


In Bocca Al Lupo

by bluestar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7543177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestar/pseuds/bluestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good luck, safe travels, good night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1.

 

            Five eyes no brighter than a firefly’s glow stared out from the shadows of the storm pipe drain. The mouth of the old pipe was blocked off with a much newer sluice gate; almost _brand_ new, on closer inspection. The gate was up now, and the watcher’s visitor had slipped inside unremarked. There was an older set of rust-eaten bars stretched across the mouth to further discourage the curious from venturing inside. The watcher leaned against the bars, hooked their arms through them and clasped their hands together. A prisoner standing nonchalant in their cell.

            “Risking a lot coming down here like you own the place.” The visitor shifted his weight, ignoring the scummy water that rose past their ankles. The watcher studied him, body perfectly still. “Curfew’s still up last I heard.”

            “I’m touched you care so much.” A scent of smoke overlaid the reek of dirty water; the visitor tapped ash from the thick cigarillo, blowing the smoke upwards in a thin stream.

            “Not you I care about. Last thing we need is another round of plods coming down here looking for an _excuse,_ if you follow.”

            “Oh, I follow. Been a busy week in the Row.”

            The watcher didn't blink, but their eyes did dim briefly, complex camera-lens irises calibrating to hard focus on the visitor’s face. “Borrowed trouble. Not our fault someone wanted to finish what the assassin started. Again.”

            “That mess was a dog’s age ago.”

            “Memory stretches longer than anyone likes to admit. And it twists and turns ‘til it’s only what people want to remember. Someone’s always to blame for ills they haven’t visited.”

            “True enough. But that EMP never did make it down to the lower levels.” He shifted his weight again, tapped more ash from the cigarillo. “You’re a tight-lipped bunch down here. Why’d _you_ answer the message?”

            “Does it matter?”

            “I’d say it does indeed, seein’ as we were tryin’ to make contact since we saved your hides.”

            “I always thought Overwatch did things for the greater good, no thanks required.”

            That made the visitor laugh; a soft _hff_ of amusement, not much sound at all. The breath was redolent with smoke – he had been at the gate a long time, smoking to keep himself busy. The watcher had let him go through three of them before approaching. It was late into the night, late enough to trace the edge of being extremely early in the morning, and in this hour King’s Row was well and truly silent. No leftover drunks turned out from the pubs after last call, no black-beetle cabs trawling the streets for one more fare. The watcher kept time down to the picosecond, counting out a small eternity and waiting.

            Three billion, six hundred million picoseconds had passed.  The visitor chain smoked, leaning against the pipe wall and looking into the dark. The watcher wondered if he could see them – the thought had been spur enough to venture forward.

            “Thanks are all well and good,” the visitor said. “Couple friends of mine might just blush at the gratitude.”

            “Not you?”

            “Nah, not me. I was raised too modest.”

            “Say what you’re here to say, Overwatch. Time’s running too long.”

            “You think I represent all of Overwatch? Mighty fine of you.”

            The watcher finally shifted, head tilting exactly four centimeters to the left. Barely noticeable, but the visitor’s eyes tracked the slight movement all the same.

            “We both know I don’t mean it that way. We both know Overwatch is listening. I only see you here. Doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

            “Suspicious minds make for uneasy friends.”

            “No human’s a friend of mine. That icicle of an assassin saw to that.” There was a minute twitch in his expression the watcher’s second and fifth eyes honed in on. “Oh, yes. I know who did it. The ride she caught on the way out wasn’t inconspicuous.”

            “How much do you know?”

            “Enough.” An answer and a dismissal. The visitor sighed, flicking his last cigarillo into the stagnant puddle. “You’re wasting so much time. Ask what you want to ask. All of you.”

            The visitor put a finger to his ear, his gaze losing focus briefly as he listened to voices the watcher’s auditory sensors were not sensitive enough to pick up on. The narrowband comm channel they used was too secure, the earpiece laden with an ouroboros loop guarded against any unwanted intrusion. After a moment the visitor’s hand dropped, resting atop the grip of the heavy revolver slung low on his hip. The watcher’s first and third eye fixed on the revolver; the rest watched the visitor’s face.

            “Well?”

            “The omnium in Siberia.”

            “Never been to Siberia.”

            “Expect you wouldn’t’ve. But that omnium’s been awful busy of late churnin’ out new omnics.  Any of them happened to stray down into your neck of the woods?”

            The watcher was silent, their head tilting one centimeter further. “Can't say.”

            “Can't, or won’t?”

            “Take your pick.”

            “This isn’t an extermination operation, y’know. If we’d wanted you gone, we woulda let that EMP take the ride down.”

             The watcher pulled away from the bars, standing stiffly straight. “Are we done here?”

            “No one can get near the omnium without being blasted to pieces. Volskaya’s got a fleet of Svyatogor that can hold the line and keep the incursions from comin’ in an deeper’n they already have, but it’s not enough.”

            “You’re asking the wrong questions. What you’re looking for isn’t here.”

            The visitor leaned close to the bars, meeting two of the watcher’s eyes. “So point me in the right direction.”

            “Why are you the one they sent?”

            “I’ll trade you the answer for a proper scrap of information.”

            The watcher was silent, eyes dimming as they refocused, idly scanning over microscopic flecks of ash on the visitor’s deep red serape.

            “Nepal.”

            Again, the minute twitch. Interest? Surprise? The watcher was uncomfortable admitting to themself they didn’t know.

            “Never been to Siberia, but you flounced off to Nepal?”

            “Not me, no. But Shambali’s there. _Mondatta_ was there. Some people will go to any length to find a bit of safety in a world like this.”

            The _hff_ of a laugh came again. “Y’don’t know the half of it.”

            “I know enough.” The watcher fell back a step, their third eye gazing past the man, sensors piqued towards the outside. A quick measure of barometric pressure spoke of rain and fog. “Nepal, Overwatch. Go there and find what you can. There’s nothing here for you.”

            “Thank you.”

            The watcher lifted a shoulder in a stiff shrug. “No thanks necessary. Greater good and all.”

            “You got a name?”

            “Quotient.”

            “I’ll be seein’ you around, Quotient.”

            “Don’t think I will, Agent McCree.”

            McCree watched the omnic as they turned and strode into the deeper dark of the pipe, down to the undercity below King’s Row. He slipped out of the small, uncomfortable space and slowly eased the sluice gate back down; he hated himself a little for replacing the padlocks that had held the gate shut, but figured Quotient was right enough. No need to give anyone patrolling for an omnic out of line a _reason._

            “ _You didn’t tell them why we sent you.”_ McCree shrugged as he trudged out of the muddy drainage channel, up onto the street. He wrapped his sarape a little closer around himself against the chill, glancing upwards as a fine, misting rain began to fall.

            “Didn’t get the chance to. Don’t think they much cared. Lil’ spooky they know me by name, though. Thought I was incognito.”

“ _I think it’s the hat. Tips people off, love.”_

“Reckon so. You shoulda been the one to rendezvous. Woulda had them chatterin’ like a jaybird in no time.” There was only silence in response, then a small sigh. “Lena. They – _all_ of ‘em - they don’t blame you for Mondatta.”

            “ _I know, I know.”_

“An’ it was _you_ who spotted the EMP operation from the get-go.”

            “ _Yeah, well._ ”

            “Yeah well nothin’, Miss Oxton. Ain’t gotta make up for things no one’s faultin’ you for.”

            “ _Let’s talk about it later,_ ” Tracer said, in the hurriedly cheerful tone that told McCree _later_ was _never._ “ _Lots to plan for! Never been to Nepal, have you?”_

            “Certainly haven’t. It’ll be interestin’ at the very least.”

            “ _That’s the spirit!”_

            McCree was fairly certain his idea of interesting involved more gunfire, shouting and pandemonium than Tracer’s, but elected not to say so. The King’s Row operation had been their first dive back into the public eye as a unified team rather than pockets of former Overwatch agents popping up for rogue do-gooding. Funny enough that the news decided to focus on PETRAS Act violations and property damage rather than the prevention of a massacre, but then again, omnics were about as popular as Overwatch themselves. If the EMP had gone off and taken out the undercity and the strike team all in one go, McCree was sure there’d be precious few tears shed.

            The misting had turned to a splattering, messy drizzle. McCree ducked into an alleyway and criss-crossed his path across the city, hat pulled low over his brow and serape tight as a shroud around him. The murky sky roiled, the rain fell. He turned another corner and without greetings or acknowledgement slid into the passenger seat of the car hovering in a low idle by the curb. As the door snapped shut it sailed silently on the empty street, and disappeared unnoticed.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

 

 

            The head sat in pieces on her table, the mass of impossibly thin circuits and wires under close examination. Sitting hunched in an old metal chair, a woman used a pair of tweezers to pick a large chunk apart, humming to herself as the circuitry peeled layer by layer. The omnic was an antique by current tech standards; some scavenged leftover from the middle years of the Crisis when the omnium minds had begun finding creativity in their tin soldiers. She picked and peeled the chunk of omnic processing core like a neurosurgeon exploring the dead tissues of a cadaver. Her tweezer clicked, the circuits ripped, wires snapped.

            A creak of leather caught her ear, and she bent further over her work. “I don’t like lurkers.” The leather creaked again, several slow, heavy steps seeming to echo far louder than the space should have allowed. She looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. Nothing met hers in return, the sockets hollow and empty as a dry well. “This isn’t a theater operation.”

            Her companion dragged the second chair away from the table and sat down like he’d been dropped there, head cricking stiffly to one side. His voice was flat and burred around the edges, the words dragging from his mouth. “That cost a lot of money to deliver safely.”

            “It was delivered for me to study. I don’t see what my doing with it afterwards is your business.”

            “Not _my_ business.”

            “Talon’s, then.”

            “Their business with me-” he paused, pulling in a breath before pushing it out again in ragged droning. “-begins and ends within my contracts. This has nothing to do with them.”

            “Everything revolves around their interests in the end,” the woman said, her attention focused on the processer as her tweezers pulled at a net of fine white silicate wiring. “Like a spider’s web.”

            “It was intact an hour ago. What are you looking for?”

            The woman’s mouth quirked and she set the tweezers down hard, glaring over at the man. “Go haunt somebody else, Reaper. I’m busy.”

            The silence was too complete – no dragging breath was sucked into the holes of Reaper’s mask as he watched her, those hollow sockets staring. She clucked her tongue and pushed away from the chair, making as much noise in the small kitchenette as she could. Water splattered in the sink, the teapot slammed onto the hotplate.

            “Go _away_ , Gabriel.”

            A breath. “It took me three days to scout the armory for that piece.”

            A pause. “Leaving it to collect dust was a waste.” The woman kept her back turned to Reaper, ripping open a box of cheap-smelling tea. She glanced over at the too-still figure. “…I have two mugs.”

            Reaper’s head tilted down slightly after a moment. “Thanks.”

            The woman hummed in acknowledgement. Reaper leaned closer to the table, studying the mess of mechanical parts that littered the repurposed space; the omnic’s eyes were dead cobalt blue, one cracked and spilling filament. He didn’t know what had put the machine down permanently, though there were marks of electrical burns over its dull grey plating.

            “Here.” A mug clinked against the jutting edge of his mask. He reached up and held it crushing-tight, leaning over it so the steam curled over his hidden face. The woman watched as he drew a breath, and when he didn’t use it to speak she sat back down at the table. She studied her work, sipping very carefully at her own mug. She set it down after a moment and took her tweezers up again, adjusting a small reading lamp to shine on the processor.

            “Is it the right one?”

            Her tweezers paused over a thread of the silicate web. “It’s the right class of ‘bot. We’ll see if it’s the right unit soon enough.” The thread pulled free and the web began to unravel, lying flat on the table in a loose spiral. A tiny blue cube sat amidst the wreckage of the omnic’s brain; the woman breathed a soft sigh, picking up a small tool with a bright tip of the same hue.

            “Did you know,” the woman said conversationally, “That the Shambali doctrine claims that all beings have the essence of a soul?” A guttural sound was her only reply, and the woman glanced over. “It’s true. I read all about it. It’s an all-encompassing thing, y’know? The energies of the unconscious universe pooling together in the organic and synthetic, experiencing life. _So_ inspirational.”

            Reaper’s fingers tapped against the rapidly cooling mug, the metal claw tips of his gloves an erratic _tick-tick-tick_ on the chipped porcelain. “Thinking things with off switches are more afraid of death than most.”

            “Oh?” She waited for him to continue, but he seemed content to let the cryptic words hang. She turned her attention back to the cube, turning it over delicately and tapping each side with the blue-tipped tool. The fifth side of the cube showed a latticework of omnic coding hieroglyphics, and she smiled. “Oooh…”

            Reaper leaned forward as the woman pressed the tool into the central glyph; she laughed in triumph as the cube’s walls collapsed.

            “What is that?” he asked. The woman tossed the tool aside, hands cupping around a Mandelbrot set of silvery material. It avoided her touch, floating self-sustained and rapidly reforming itself. It was bright, strange and beautiful.

            “The thing with omnic brains is that their circuits and wires, they all develop folds like a human’s brain would,” the woman said, her voice hushed as she studied the silver fractal. “Hardware that should have a set capacity for learning capability and information storage mimics us. A human can learn indefinitely. Can you imagine how amazing it must be, to have that same kind of capacity as a machine and never forget a single thing?”

            Reaper had no answer for that, one shoulder lifting in a vague shrug. The woman didn’t notice this; she held the set gingerly as a child trying to capture a soap bubble, placing it down in a waiting glass canister. The set floated down and then buoyed back up, and the woman quickly snapped the canister’s lid back into place. The captive set fluctuated in wild fractals, and she watched it with avid fascination.

            “What is it?” Reaper repeated. The woman glanced at him again.

            “Something special. A soul, maybe.”

            The guttural sound came again. “Not a soul.”

            “Then pure mathematics given a squishy physical form. Use your imagination, Gabe.”

            He grunted. “So it’s the right one?”

            “Not _the_ right one…but it’s a solid start.” She grinned at him. “You _like_ me.”

            “What.”

            “You do! You stayed this whole time just lurking outside my quarters, wringing your claws and wondering if I’d like my present. I can just hear you now. _‘What if Sombra doesn’t like it? She’ll be so disappointed!’._ You’re my _favorite_ , Gabe.”

            Reaper was silent; he took in a breath just so he could exhale it again in a quiet, exasperated sigh. “You’re welcome. I guess.”

            Sombra beamed at him. “That _is_ why you kept lurking, right? Scared I’d send you out to get another one?”

            “No.”

            “Ah, good. I mean…I would’ve made you go get another one _anyway,_ Amélie always says no when I ask her for things, and besides the fact the director’d never let his pet spider out for an _errand_ run and-” Sombra gasped for breath mid-word, breaking out into laughter again. “This is so _exciting!_ ”

            “Is it?”

            “It is. You just helped me skip ahead three steps in my work. So –and listen closely, you’re only getting one of these – _thank_ you.”

            Reaper stared at her, or at least Sombra assumed he did. The mask’s empty sockets gave no indication. “I didn’t stay because I was nervous.”

            “No? Then why? Just enjoy my sparkling company?” Sombra slid off her chair and grabbed the omnic’s empty head as she went, chucking it into a waiting rubbish bin. “Am I your favorite too? That’s so sweet.”

            Reaper’s silence took on an almost tangible discomfort; Sombra paused, looking over her shoulder at him. He sat with his head tilted slightly downwards to the tea mug again, the liquid inside gone stone cold. Sombra felt awkwardness pass over her like a faint grey cloud.

            “Were you lonesome?” His head cricked sharply towards her. The mug gave a warning crackle as his grip tightened. “I told you once, I told you a thousand times. I can find him for you if you want. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t everybody else here dull compared to your pet charity case?”

            He stood, the creak of leather louder than it ought have been. He swept past her without a word; Sombra reached out and grabbed her cracked mug from him.

            “Where’s your gunslinger gone, man in black? I could find him. Give me an hour and I’ll pull everything on him, every record-” Reaper didn’t open her door. He simply passed through it, the miasmic fog of his body staining the grey metal black as he left. Sombra huffed, muttering sourly. “Jeez. Suit yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

                “This is not how I wanted to see you again.”

                The sparsely-furnished room was cold and very small, and its owner was dead. The man that stood above the omnic’s body would not turn around to face the visitor standing in the doorway, his hand knotted in the curtain that served as a makeshift door. Open to the mountain wind, snow was accumulating in little drifts on the floor.

                “It is not what you think.” The defense was weak. Worse that it was the _truth,_ but how could it be seen for anything but a lie? “Genji. It is not what you think, I _swear_ it.”

                Genji stepped silently into the dead omnic’s room, the curtain falling back in place behind him. A small electric lantern on the desk threw a bright, bleached light that rendered shadows sharp, angles pointing to corpse and suspect alike as though accusing.

                “Hanzo.” He flinched to hear his name; Genji’s voice had a soft synthetic quality, vibrating at the edges. “Tell me how I should see this differently. I will listen to you.”

                His gentle tone rankled Hanzo. He wasn’t sure what was worse – Genji’s cautious, kind approach as though he was a spooked animal ready to bolt, or the fact that he had to defend himself for warranted action. He kept his gaze fixed on the omnic, jaw working. Their head was twisted at an awkward angle, arms and legs slack in death. He had killed omnics before, and the way they crumpled – so like human bodies! Falling to the ground in graceless heaps, limbs tangled, faces with blank, staring eyes.

                Hanzo was acutely aware of Genji’s presence beside him, and he found he couldn’t muster the will to look at his brother. “I didn’t think you would come back here.”

                “Where? To this house, or-”

                “Nepal. I’ve been here several weeks already.”

                Genji’s hand on his shoulder felt heavy; it was only Hanzo’s imagination but he was certain he could feel the coldness of his brother’s metal fingers through his thick jacket, burning against his skin. He shrugged Genji off abruptly.

                “I had no reason to come back, at first,” Genji said, unperturbed as his hand fell away. His tone was still gentle and cautious. Hanzo’s jaw tightened painfully. “There was an incident a few days ago in King’s Row. I volunteered to come back and…” He gestured at the dead omnic. “Follow up on a lead.”

                “What sort of incident?”

                “The kind that requires deeper investigation.” Genji crouched down beside the omnic, turning their head carefully to one side. “You severed their cortex cabling. Omnics’ necks are no more flexible than ours, you know.”

                “It was not my intention to kill them.” Hanzo’s insides clenched at Genji’s quiet sigh. “I _told_ you. I have been here several weeks…enough to get a feeling for the village residents. This one has been acting suspiciously for the past several days. I decided to investigate.”

                “I was not aware playing detective involved murdering suspects.” Hanzo rounded on Genji, meeting his gaze at last. “That is how my colleagues will see it, Hanzo. _And_ the Shambali monks. This is a place of peace.”

                “I know,” Hanzo said tightly. “I’ve seen the kinds of pilgrims that wander through the mountains here. It is a fragile idealism that keeps this place from devolving into chaos.”

                “Not so fragile. You haven’t been looking as closely as you should, if you think we are all treading the same thin line of violence you are.” Genji’s quiet rebuke made Hanzo flinch. He shook his head and stood, going to the dead omnic’s desk and sorting through a thick collection of papers. The notes were written in omnic runic coding, indecipherable. “This makes things much harder.”

                “The omnic was here alone. No friends to speak of, no interaction with others aside from small supply runs.” Hanzo watched Genji expertly comb through the omnic’s quarters, trying to piece together a narrative the life Hanzo had ended so abruptly. “Stand-offish. Isolated.”

                Genji said nothing, but he glanced over his shoulder at Hanzo when he fell silent. Encouraged by the acknowledgment Hanzo continued. “Five days ago their behavior changed. They were agitated. They tried to speak with several others here-”

                “Who?”

                “Omnics. No humans. They never spoke to humans. They were turned away every time and grew more agitated. When news came that Overwatch agents were coming to visit…” he trailed off, looking annoyed. “Why would you _advertise_ that you were coming?”

                “My ties to the monastery aren’t a secret,” Genji said. “If a dropship full of rogue peacekeeper agents suddenly appeared without warning, many people would take that badly. If a former student of Tekhartha Zenyatta were to arrive on a goodwill visit? That would be more welcome.”

                “Until interrogations started.”

                “I would not have taken your approach to it,” Genji countered. Before Hanzo could bite out a reply he shook his head again. “There’s more you’re not telling me. Why kill them? Why kill them _now_?”

                “I was in the crowd this morning that welcomed you,” Hanzo said. His voice was very quiet, so much so that Genji had to lean close to hear him. “They were curious to see Overwatch. I wasn’t sure you’d be there, and I wanted to… _they_ were there as well. Hanging back on the fringes. When they saw you and those two women, they fled.”

                “You came to greet me?”

                “I did. I would have stayed if I hadn’t noticed them first. I followed them instead.” Hanzo leaned against the desk’s edge, staring down at the omnic. Its lightless eyes stared back at him. “They were talking to someone but it was in…I can’t explain the sound. If binary code was audible, maybe. I was foolish, trying to eavesdrop. I pulled the curtain back and they realized I was there.”

                He pushed away from the desk and waved his hand towards the door; faint skids marred the rough wood panels where he had been dragged in, feet trying to brace in resistance. The lines ended roughly where the omnic had fallen. He pushed his sleeve back to reveal the ring of livid bruises already blooming around his wrist. Genji examined the injury, saying nothing.

                “They were enraged,” Hanzo said, resisting the urge to wrench his arm away from Genji’s loose grip, ignoring cool metal fingertips hovering over the bruises. “They demanded to know who I was. Said they had done nothing wrong, that I had the wrong person. I…demanded to know who they had been talking to.”

                Genji’s hand dropped away and he sighed again, hard. “Hanzo…”

                “They attacked me,” Hanzo said shortly. “I defended myself.”

                They both looked down at the body again. They were an older omnic, the wear and tear of a long, hard life evident in the battered chassis and stripped joints. Genji knelt down beside them again and rooted through their pockets, pulling a small black object out from their much-mended coat.

                “Burner phone?”

                “Maybe,” Genji said. “I’ll give it to Athena to look at later.”

                “Who is-”

                “You’ll meet her later on.” Something in Genji’s tone gave Hanzo pause, foreboding building. “I’ll introduce you to Lena and Angela too. You’ll like Lena, she-”

                “No.” Hanzo took a half-step away from his brother, face fixed in a scowl. “I was here for you. Not them.”

                “You’ve gotten yourself _involved_ with them now. The minute you came in here, you threw your lot in with us.”

                Hanzo growled in futile anger as Genji turned away from him, rooting through the dead omnics belongings again. There was a tiny closet packed with junk at the back of the room; he busied himself sorting through the detritus, leaving Hanzo to stare daggers at his back. Eventually he took the hint and began rifling through drawers in the desk, scrounging for...well, he wasn’t sure what. He emptied out a drawer full of spools of wiring and boxes of screws; his knuckles rapped against the drawer’s bottom with a curiously hollow sound. He frowned, knocking on the drawer’s bottom again. The plywood shifted under his hand.

                “Genji.”

                “Find something?”

                “Perhaps.” Hanzo glanced down at the dead omnic, then pried off the false bottom of the drawer. A small portable drive and a dusty, folded purple kerchief sat in the shallow hiding spot. Hanzo picked up the kerchief and unfolded it; age had scored permanent creases deep into the rich purple fabric, tattered at the edges and decorated with a white insignia. He felt a ball of ice form in his stomach as he unfolded the kerchief fully.

                “Null Sector,” Genji said quietly. The white omnic rune slashed through with a stripe of indigo was unmistakable. They looked down at the dead omnic in unison. The room suddenly felt far too small for the three of them.

“Why keep something like this? Knowing what could happen if they were found out?”

“They _were_ found out,” Genji said grimly. “No wonder they attacked you. Doesn’t matter if you understood the conversation or not.” He took the kerchief and folded it back up, grabbing the portable drive. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”

“I am _not-_ ”

“I will not waste time trying to convince you further,” Genji said. Hanzo blinked at his clipped tone. “Hanamura was an invitation. You did not have to follow. You did not have to _wait._ But you did. And for some reason, you decided to investigate a matter that was _not_ your problem. Choose, Hanzo. I will not decide for you.”

He left as quietly as he had come. Hanzo stared at the heavy curtain as it swung back in place, leaving him alone with the dead Null Sector agent. He looked at the splayed body one last time, and with a muttered curse hurried after his brother.

 

               


	4. Chapter 4

                The mountain air was so crisp and cold it hurt to breathe. Lena sat on the stone steps leading up to the monastery’s main entrance and drew in breath after long, deep breath, feeling the clean air chill her to the core, but still seeming full of a brightness like sunlight. Omnic energy, she had once read, was entirely unique to the artificial beings who carried it. Tekhartha Mondatta had written extensively on the subject, stating the unexplained energy was proof of _soul_ – a force unexplainable but stubbornly present, growing when nurtured and withering when ignored.

Her chronal accelerator hummed gently against her chest and she drummed her fingers on it thoughtfully. Time, like omnic energy, was a thing that simply _was._ Sure people studied it and made a fuss about it, sometimes claiming they knew exactly _what_ it was and _why_. But at the end of the day, there was always one more thing to study from a different angle, one more facet of polished understanding that turned out to be flawed and set the whole damn effort of understanding back into motion. Lena took another breath of air-and-sunlight, glancing over her shoulder at the heavy wooden doors that stood closed to the world behind her. Shambali was a place that stressed all were welcome; if Lena had felt uninvited and unworthy to stand with her colleagues in the monastery’s heart, that was her own problem.

Winston wouldn’t like that she had ducked out of the meeting at the last minute. Frankly, she didn’t like it very much herself. McCree’s insistence that her failure was _not_ failure, that no one blamed her, hung heavy in her thoughts. But the idea of going into the sanctum Mondatta had built, to look his brothers and sisters in the ocular sensors and just say “Oh, sorry! It was me or him and I chose myself!” was too much to bear. A hot little bloom of anger opened up in her chest, thrumming in synch with the ebb and flow of the accelerator. _In-_ it was my fault – _out-_ I should have tried harder- _in-_ I’m sorry.

“Oh, hush it,” she said to herself. The bloom of anger wilted, closed up, curled back under into the dark hollow spot in her chest where her fears and frustrations always went. Lena pushed back her goggles and blinked in a world gone from shades of yellow to bright, stark colors, looking up at the icy blue sky. She had resolved to go in and make her apologies for being late when the door opened.

Angela was walking side by side with a tall, bulky omnic, their heavy frame straining against the rich embroidered robes they wore. They bowed to Angela in farewell and she did likewise, murmuring thanks. The monk looked to Lena and she felt briefly pinned by their gaze; their head tilted slightly and they approached her, taking her hand in both of theirs in a carefully gentle, welcoming grasp. She could feel a warmth in the metal that wasn’t the heat of machinery at work, and the ebb-flow pulse of time synched to a new rhythm.

“Agent Oxton. Be welcome.”

The bloom turned to dust and faded. Lena smiled up at the monk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I only grieve that your lateness means you must leave sooner,” the monk said, quiet voice at odds with their intimidating appearance. “It was good to see Genji again. He was always an attentive and thoughtful student.”

Lena cast a curious look behind the monk, but Genji was not behind them. Angela touched her shoulder lightly. “He is staying a little while longer. We should get back to the ship and prepare for departure.”

Her expression was grave, telling Lena unspoken she had not gotten what they’d come for. A record of the current and past omnic pilgrims to the monastery that may have been in contact with the dead Null Sector agent – and Lena shivered to think how Genji must have felt, trying to explain the murder to the monks. Outwardly she smiled, copying Angela’s respectful bow to the monk.

“Thank you for your hospitality and help,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to visit this place. Sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

“Our doors stand open to you,” the monk said. “May your future investigations go…smoother.”

“That could’ve gotten awkward much quicker,” Angela said as they descended the stairs, walking shoulder to shoulder across the broad courtyard. “Lena…I do understand your reasons, but please-”

“I know. Won’t happen again,” Lena said. Angela looked at her with a faint frown, brows knitting in unspoken concern. Lena smiled back, so brightly it simply made Angela sigh in fond exasperation and shake her head. “So the _information gathering_ part of the reconnaissance mission didn’t pan out, did it.”

“Unfortunately not. Genji is well-regarded here and that opens doors, but the one we needed most has been sealed against us.”

“And…the body?”

Angela shook her head. “Of no use to us, unfortunately. Athena is already running cipher decryptions on the drive and communicator Genji found. Those are the leads we have to follow, not an interrogation.”

“That _Genji_ found.” The subtle stress on the name made Angela glance over at her again. “What about what his- what his _friend_ helped find?”

Angela’s sighed. “He’s made it abundantly clear where his feelings stand about us. I hope it can withstand a Winston-grade ‘ _what on Earth were you thinking’_ post-op lecture.”

Lena whistled low. “Don’t envy him that.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re due for a milder one when we get back.” Lena pretended to shudder in banked terror, making Angela laugh quietly and bat at her shoulder. “I’ll tell him to go light on you. One-time warning.”

“Thanks, love.”

 

* * *

 

 

The dropship left Nepal with less fanfare from curious onlookers than it had arrived with, flying low and quiet past the mountain ranges toward home. Lena piloted with a light, expert hand, Athena her quiet co-pilot keeping an eye on ship systems. The interior still smelled a little like dust and mothballs; it had been several years since its last long-range flight, and while Torbjörn had sworn up and down the rig was ready for a long haul, it never hurt to be cautious. Lena swiveled in the pilot’s seat as she watched mountain ranges of clouds that put their earthly cousins to shame pass by, painted brightly by the setting sun. The ship flew steady, and she felt her attention slipping inward and loose, free from time. It didn’t feel like they were moving at all; maybe the ship was fixed in one spot and it was the world itself moving around them, shifting the landscape from Nepal to the path home, to Gibraltar. Ten years since she’d been there last, and the first day back in the Watchpoint had felt as easy and comfortable as if she’d never left. She let herself wander through memories time had not faded – could _never_ fade – thinking of home until a pointedly sharp tone jarred her back to the present.

“Agent Oxton. We are ready to begin landing procedures.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry…lost in thought for a moment there.” She blinked, frowning as she looked at the flight map. “Well. I _thought_ it was just a moment.”

“It has been four hours, ten minutes.” Not an accusation, just a slightly bland statement of fact. Lena felt her face heat up a little in embarrassment all the same. “Shall I take care of landing preparations, Agent?”

“No, no. I’ve got it.”

The landing was smooth, disembarking quick; Winston was waiting on the landing pad for them and his expression was less than pleased as Genji escorted their unexpected addition over the tarmac. To his credit, Hanzo Shimada didn’t balk at the enormous gorilla looming over him, nor make a sound or look away as said gorilla frowned severely at him.

“Welcome back,” Winston said, his expression thawing a little as his gaze left Hanzo and rested on the crew. “Let’s debrief and then get settled. Genji, Athena wants you in the server lab with the drive ASAP.”

As they filed back into the Watchpoint’s main building, Lena watched Winston fall in step beside Hanzo. His earlier composure slipped as Genji went inside without looking back, and he looked up at Winston warily. Winston peered down over the rims of his glasses, frown firmly back in place.

“I would like to have a _talk_ with you, Mister Shimada.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Lena next saw Hanzo he looked a little shaken, but otherwise no worse for wear. He sat uncomfortably outside the briefing room, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the cracked, slightly dirty linoleum floor. His gaze swung up and fixed on Lena as she approached; she put her hands up playfully.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. How’d your very first Winston Lecture go?”

He stared at her silently for a moment and Lena wondered if he’d even deign to reply- something in his expression changed and he sat back, no less wary but at least a little more receptive.

“I have been reprimanded for my behavior before,” he said dryly. “But somehow the words have more impact when coming from a _talking gorilla._ ”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Lena sat down beside him, hugging her knees to her chest and looking at the closed door. “Waiting on Genji?”

He nodded, sharp gaze drifting back down to the floor. “The gor… _Winston_ notified me that Genji had contacted him in Nepal to explain my presence. That I was welcome, as long as I abide by Overwatch operation protocols. He is under the impression I will be staying.”

“Will you?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Hanzo said, tone plain and even. “My reason for lingering in Nepal is here.”

Lena nodded, looking at Hanzo curiously. “Welcome to the team, then.”

That drew a very small smile from him, not quite reaching past his lips. “For now.”

“For now.” She grinned as he glanced at her. “I can give you the tour if you like. Genji may be in there for a while.”

Again there was that moment of silent study; Lena felt his attention heavy on her, trying to suss out _something_ – he eventually nodded, standing. Lena jumped up, craning her head back to look at him; he hadn’t so much as looked her way once on the dropship, silent and surly. Now he looked lost – he _was_ lost, and flailing a little with it – and Lena wanted nothing more than to offer a helping hand. Maybe that was what he had seen in her. His expression was less stoic, his tone less formal as she walked with him into the depth of the Watchpoint’s maze-like corridors.

                “I would appreciate it. It is good to know where one’s place is, in a new home.”

                “Agreed.”

               


End file.
